A Cry Goes Up
by Evenstar120
Summary: On Sept. 11, 2001, Rocky is forced to examine his convictions and find the chance to mourn


**A Cry Goes Up**

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the ranger characters, and I don't own the quote from Elie Wiesel, the slightly altered quote from Dostoevsky (which I don't identify as such, but is contained in priest's speech near the end of the story), or the one from Augustine._

_Author's note: While I was deeply affected by the destruction and terror wreaked last year on the United States as were my fellow countrymen and indeed, much of the world, it had never occurred to me to write a fic about it. Too serious a subject, I thought. Then one of my professors asked us, as homework to write a story/essay about Sept. 11, not to turn in, but to help us verbalize our reactions so that we could discuss them in class later. Sitting at my computer, I found that I could not bring myself to write my own reaction. So I did the next best thing. I began to write a story using the characters I know best, to commemorate and honor those who died, and this is the result. I don't mean to offend anyone with it, and if I have, I sincerely apologize. _

Silently, Rocky left his house. No plan, no nothing, just a need to do something. Walking through the darkened streets of Angel Grove, in the distance, he heard voices rise in a soft hymn, with a wail or sob piercing the melody at scattered intervals. Vaguely in the darkness, candle flames flickered far away. Rocky considered joining them, knowing that he could simply melt into the mass of people and candle flames and maybe, just maybe, he could appropriate some of their grief and anger for himself. He felt neutered, empty, and that was the worst of it. The complete detachment and cold nothingness in his heart did not allow him to think, to grieve, or even to comfort one who was grieving.

Rocky idly kicked at a rock by the curb. One memory in particular from that morning continued to haunt him. Sitting in class, Mrs. Applebee gravely relating the news to them, he remembered Tanya raising her hand dazedly and almost whispering her question with an insecurity that was atypical for her bold personality. "Were there…" she trailed, afraid to ask the question, afraid to hear the answer, "were there people on those planes?" The answer seemed so obvious, but somewhere, Rocky prayed that the planes had been military jets that were hijacked, not civilian airlines. Stillness filled the room as Mrs. Applebee paused, the pause giving away the answer no one wanted to hear. 

Finally, the teacher's head dropped and her eyes found the floor. "Yes."

Tommy had been angry. Rocky could have sworn that if Tommy had been able to get Zordon's permission for the operation, he would have been in Afghanistan in an instant to blow any terrorist in his path to kingdom come. Katherine and Tanya cried. Adam remained virtually silent the whole day, refusing to discuss the events with anyone. Jason said little, but the sadness in his face was so evident that he had no need to. For him, he was watching the efforts of years spent at the peace conference crumble as surely as the Twin Towers had. Rocky wished for any of his friends' emotions to be his, but he could not snap out of the awful lethargy and emptiness that gripped him.

Rocky wondered in his solitude why today's events affected him even more deeply than the tragedy he had encountered as a ranger. The monsters were no joke, and while it was very rare that civilians were killed, the city was often a destroyed mess once the monster was vanquished. Somehow, this was infinitely worse, but why it was he could not pinpoint. 

Passing the door of his parish church, Rocky sighed. His faith had always been a comfort to him, though he was not as religious as his mother wished he would be. He often missed mass on Sundays, and his career as a Ranger made it difficult to attend a service without his communicator beeping in the middle of a prayer. Nonetheless, Rocky found it important to go to confession at times and to say his prayers daily. In the moments he could not confess to his friends, and could never have spoken about with anyone outside the Rangers without abridging confidentiality, he turned to God. Few would have suspected that under Rocky's joking, laughing demeanor there was a young man that was serious at the core. Tommy and Adam particularly were known for being the serious and slightly moody ones on the team, and while Rocky possessed a serious side, he was also as much full of joviality and enjoyed life. This was the side he chose to show people.

Pausing at the doorstep of St. Augustine's, Rocky wondered if the church would be full of people. He thought about it for a moment, and then realized that most of the citizens of Angel Grove were at the interdenominational service and vigil at the park. He opened the door and entered the church. 

Inside, the church was indeed devoid of people. All the statues of the saints seemed to float over liquid dishes of fire so many candles had been lit under them. Rocky could smell the incense drifting from where it had been lit on one of the altars. Silently, Rocky dipped his fingers into the basin of holy water at the door and crossed himself properly. He put a few coins from his pocket into the box and then grabbed a small glass cup with a candle affixed in it with the intention of lighting it before one of the altars. Walking down the nave of the church, he slowly approached the main altar, a cross with a joyful Christ raising His arms to show that He had suffered, but now was resurrected. In that instant, at last Rocky's lethargy fled, anger filling the gap. Raising the candle up, he knew the minute before he flung it to the ground that he shouldn't, that he was damaging sacred property, that this was almost sacrilegious. Nothing restrained him. The glass shattering on the hard stone barely affected him as he stared blankly at the pulverized remains.

Sinking to his knees, Rocky wanted to kill, maim, fling more candles. As he contemplated doing so, he heard a voice from behind him. "My son, what are you doing? Are you hurt?"

Rocky saw the slender, black-cassocked priest walk over silently to where the broken glass littered the floor. "Be careful," the priest cautioned him, making a motion to sweep up the sharp glittering shards. He stopped as he looked at the face of his young parishioner. Wrinkled in the most intense hatred and anger, Rocky's eyes were fixed on the joyous Christ leaping up to leave His cross behind. 

Rocky barely noted the priest beside him as he stared. "You," he addressed the joyful Christ, "how DARE YOU!" All other words fled him as he looked upon the smile affixed to the statue's face. _How dare You laugh? How dare You rise and be joyful when our entire nation falls to its knees? How dare You smile while we cry? How dare You claim to be compassionate when You allow this to happen?_ Rocky smashed his fist into the stone tiles, barely aware of the pain. "And don't" he added furiously as his mind at last comprehended the still presence of the priest, "quote one of those stupid passages from Job at me about persevering through suffering." 

The priest bowed his head and at last spoke. "I have not lost faith in God. I have moments of anger and protest. Sometimes I've been closer to Him for that reason." Rocky glanced over in surprise. He had been prepared to continue to vent his anger, but the priest's words sapped it from him. 

The priest looked gently at Rocky. "Elie Wiesel said that about his faith after his experiences in a concentration camp," he said quietly. Rocky shook his head slightly.

"I had expected you to quote scripture," he confessed, too surprised to be angry for that moment. 

"And there are many excellent scriptures dealing with suffering," said the priest. "Yet 'a person who is a good and a true Christian should realize that the truth belongs to his Lord, wherever it is found.' The holy Saint Augustine, whom this church is named after said that, and I am inclined to agree. If I had quoted scripture to you, would you have listened?" 

"No," admitted Rocky.

"Come," said the priest, helping Rocky to his feet. "It is not good for you to sit on this cold stone, and I have something I wish to show you." Obediently, Rocky followed. The priest led him into a small chapel off of the large sanctuary by the sacristy. The chapel was almost dark, with only a few sparse candles lit here and there. At first, Rocky squinted in the dimness that so contrasted the incredible light in the sanctuary, but as his eyes adjusted, he could easily make out the statue that sat upon the altar. Mary sat, her marble face calm as ever, but somehow a terrible grief was tangible in her posture and expression. Cradled tenderly in her arms was the broken body of her son. In this statue, while it was certainly Christ that lay there, the emphasis was on the great pain and sadness of the mother holding her tortured son. 

Rocky could hold back no longer. Mary's grief became his own, the shattered bits of glass and concrete that had once been a part of his country, the thing he cradled in his own soul. He wept. He wept for the loss of life, he wept for the pain that he felt, he wept for his friends who were in pain. He hadn't even lost a friend or family member in that fateful attack, but he remembered well what it had felt like ten years ago to lose his father without warning. He knew the pain of the families that had lost loved ones. 

Rocky knew not how long he knelt on the small cushioned bench before the statue. The pictures he had blocked all day began to assail him. Watching the airplane come out of the clear, blue sky and crashing into the building. The fireballs erupting from the side of the Trade Center. Watching as the Towers rained concrete, glass and other debris like blood down upon New York. Seeing the very center of national security and strength violated. "I didn't lose anyone, yet I can't…I don't want…I can't stop" he sniffed, becoming aware of the priest's presence in the chapel. "It doesn't make me feel better that I lost no one," he started and then amended quickly, "I mean, I'm grateful that I didn't, but…"

"You did," stated the priest. "You lost the chance to ever know any of those people or to benefit from the gifts they still had to give to this country. You lost your sense of security, and to some degree, trust. You lost the parts of your friends and family that they themselves lost today. You mourn now not only for those lost today, but for all those lost to acts of hatred or ignorance or evil. Here in Angel Grove, we are familiar with evil, are we not? But somehow this is worse. We deal with evil that comes from the monsters because they are not us, they are not a part of us. Yet now we deal with an evil that comes not from some outside source, but from humans themselves. Consolation is not what you need," the priest murmured. "Weep and be not consoled, but weep. Only every time you weep be sure to remember that they are now the angels of God, that they look down from there at you and see you, and rejoice at your tears, and point them to the Lord God; and a long while yet will you keep your grief. But it will turn in the end into quiet joy and your bitter tears will be only tears of tender sorrow that purifies the heart."

Rocky shook his head. "I don't understand," he whispered. "How can humans do this to one another?" At last the thought that had nagged him on his walk began to take shape with the priest's previous statement. "It's worse than seeing the damage a monster did to the city. The only purpose of the monsters is to destroy, and at least in mindless destruction…" He had planned to say that there was less evil, but that was not strictly true, so he looked back at the priest.

The priest nodded. "Not less evil, but you can understand something programmed to destroy better than someone who had a choice choosing to be evil."

Rocky sighed. The priest's eyes had fixed on the statue. "We are all like Mary today," the priest said. "Cradling the broken remains of God's gifts to us." The two remained in silence for several more minutes. At last, Rocky rose and walked out of the chapel, the priest following.

Blinking in the bright light of the sanctuary, Rocky stared. Now, the candles did not seem to mock him, nor did the joyful Christ only bring Rocky pain. It still hurt desperately, but Rocky knew that someday, sometime after the darkness had passed, there would be light again. "Thank you," he said to the priest, who nodded a silent affirmation.

"Go in peace, my son."

Stepping out into the dark streets, Rocky could still hear people at the vigil singing. Fresh tears began to wet his face. Walking down towards the park and the service, he went to mourn with the rest of his country.

_In memory of those who were lost, in admiration of those who sacrificed and in love and compassion for all who mourn, tomorrow, today, and all the days that they have missed their loved one._


End file.
